Somehow Found
by fayechan666
Summary: This is a The Walking Dead fanfiction but for some reason I couldn't find the category The Walking Dead. Anyway, this is a Daryl x Jesus fanfic and it's basically a Soulmate thing which is probably going to be sad but also nice? I don't know honestly, hope you enjoy anyway xoFaye
1. Intro Chapter one

Intro / Chapter one

 _crash_

He spun around with a speed you wouldn't exactly expect when looking at him. After a few seconds of not knowing where the sound had come from, he relaxed when he saw it had just been a rat scurrying through the abandoned store and making a pot fall off a shelf. He reminded himself that he needed to always be aware of his surroundings even if he'd already triple checked everything before even thinking of relaxing a bit. He was out on a run, scavenging for supplies. Nothing in particular, he'd take everything he could find since they seemed to be low on everything. While he kept scavenging, he suddenly bent over, groaning, feeling a sharp pain in his side as though someone had actually stabbed him. When he rolled up his shirt though, there was nothing. No wound, no bruise, no nothing. Just his usual skin. He shrugged it off, trying not to think about it too much, thinking it was probably just one of those weird moments where you got some random pain for a few seconds; he had had a lot of those moments when he was a child, the pain was usually on his back, though.

A couple of hours later, the same thing happened again, now the source of his pain was his temple though. It didn't feel like a headache, as he initially thought. More like.. as if someone had tried to hit him and cut him or something. He wondered why these weird things happened today, but his attention soon switched to a nearby walker he had to take care of.

He was still out on his run when he found some dusty books in what seemed to be something like a group meeting room? There were chairs standing in a circle and one in the middle as if people had had some sort of meetings here. Maybe some therapy session? Who knew. He started looking through the now dusty books, finding one that peaked his interest: 'Gideon Archer' was the author of the fated book. The name sounded quite mysterious and intriguing to him, so he picked it up.


	2. Organizing Chapter two

Organizing / CHAPTER 2

A couple of months had passed and they had finally finished building and fortifying the walls around Hilltop, which means that he finally had some time for himself.

"Jesus!" Or not. He rolled his eyes, but had a bright smile on his face when he turned around to face the person that had called him. Esmeralda was her name, a beautiful latina woman with short, black hair.

"Hi," he smiled at her. "Hey," she smiled back, the hint of a blush spreading on her cheeks. However, her face turned into a quite serious expression after a few seconds. Now concerned, but smile still present on his face, Jesus asked how he could help her.

"We're quite low on medical supplies, so would you mind keeping an eye out for them next time you go out? We've had quite a lot of injuries lately since most people aren't used to the work they're supposed to do yet."

The long haired man's frown disappeared almost immediately when he answered: "Yea sure, I can do that. You had me worried for a second there, looking all serious!" Esmeralda just laughed at his comment and thanked him, leaving soon afterwards. Jesus, now back on his way to his trailer, reminded himself to add the medical supplies they needed to the list he kept for future runs. He had a run scheduled for the day after tomorrow where he also had to look for some more clothes and blankets to prepare for winter. For now though, he would just flop down onto his sofa, kick his feet up and finally - after literal months - have some time for himself, which he would probably spend reading.

Back in his trailer, he had collected a good amount of books which he now decided needed to be organized. He had just randomly put them all in the shelves, not being able to be bothered to check the various genres and titles. He usually organized everything by genre, title had never made much sense to him. If he wanted to read, he'd think about what kind of genre he'd like to read that day and then pick one. So that's what he got started on. He took all the books out of the shelves, putting them on the floor. Once his shelves were empty he sat down crosslegged on the floor, right in the midst of all of his books. After thinking for a second, he shook his head, got back up and walked over to his old, beat up radio. He chose one of the CDs, put it in and soon enough Queen could be heard blasting through his trailer. He went back to settle in the midst of his books once again and finally started separating them into the various genres, making a pile for each genre. Singing along to one of his favorite bands, he didn't even realize time flying by while the darkness of the night engulfed the world.

He was almost through with arranging all of the books to his liking (it had taken him a _very_ long time since he basically read the summary on the back of each book and sometimes even the first few pages), when he came across a book that made him halt. He rembered picking this one up. 'I probably won't read this anyway,' was what he had thought. Still, he grabbed it, putting it in his already full backpack. And now he sat there, staring at the book, not sure about where to put it. Fantasy, maybe? Should he put it separately? Maybe a new category for 'old wives' tales'? The book's title was 'The mesmerizing Art of being Soulmates'. He had never really believed in that sort of thing, however he wished it was true. He would love to have a soulmate, someone to share stories with, someone to share happiness and pain with, someone to share sadness and frustration with. Someone to talk to about his past. Someone who fully understood him. Someone to love. He had never had that and he had come to terms with the fact that he probably would never experience these great things a long time ago.

Shaking his head to clear it from these sad thoughts, he realized he was still holding the book. Gideon Archer was a name he had never heard of, which is why he picked this book up. For some strange reason he felt as though the book pulled him in, taunting him to read it. It felt like it was saying "I'll make you believe again," which is why he eventually decided to place it on his nightstand to read instead of actually putting it somewhere in the shelf.


	3. Out Chapter three

Out / Chapter 3

This damn deer.

He had been hunting this deer for about two days now, wanting to bring some good food back to what had slowly become his family. They hadn't had some actual meat for a while now, just small rabbits here and there, no big game - they had been living on what they were able to scavenge and the vegetables they had started growing in the yard of the prison.

The prison was what they called their home now. After having to leave the farm they travelled for a while, not having a stable home. He had hated it. It reminded him too much of the old lifestyle him and Merle used to have. Just roam around, do whatever Merle said they were doing that day. Until Merle had left. Then he had been alone. Alone with his father. Not the best way to spend half your childhood and most of your teenage years.

Merle had come back for him though. He had, because he was the only person that had ever loved Daryl. His brother. His family. The only person he could trust to always come back to him. He hadn't seen or heard from his brother since Atlanta, but he knew Merle would come back. He'd find him for sure. Of course he worried about his big brother, but he could handle himself. Merle was alive, he knew it.

He shook his head slightly. He needed to concentrate on hunting down this deer. He took a few steps to the side, always quiet, trying not to spook the animal. He took another step, raising his crossbow to take the last shot. It was bleeding already, two bolts sticking out its side. He let the breath he had been holding out steadily, aimed his crossbow and took the shot in less than two seconds. He saw the deer go down, bolt in its neck. It was still breathing when he reached it, so he took his knife and stabbed it in the head, relieving it of its pain, taking it out of its misery. After that, he pulled the bolts out, attaching them back to his crossbow.

He picked up the deer, draping it over his shoulders so he could carry it home more easily. On his way back home he had to set the animal down twice to take care of two smaller groups of walkers. When he finally reached the prison gates he was breathing rather heavily, cheeks flushed due to the effort he had made while carrying the deer. Night had already fallen, however he didn't need anybody to open the gates since he was the one with the second set of keys. He walked through the yard, meeting Carol, who had apparently seen him entering, halfway. She looked at his catch with happiness and maybe even a hint of pride. When they neared the building its lights shone down on them, enabling her to see his face, which made her expression that had just shown happiness change to one of concern.

"You okay?" She asked, nudging his arm slightly. "'m fine," he grunted, adding an almost silent "jus' a bit cold," because he knew she dis in some way care about him. She probably saw the parallels of their lives, abusive pasts, lack of love, and therefore cared about his mental and physical health. She didn't want to admit it to herself, but she had slowly started to transfer the love she felt for the daughter she lost to Daryl. She saw that he was lost and wanted to help him find his way. He was every bit as good as every single one of them.


	4. Fever Chapter four

Fever / Chapter 4

Being a mother and having known him for a while now, she saw through his bullshit quite easily. Her cool hand quickly reached for his forehead, feeling the warmth radiating from him before her hand even so much as touched him. "You're burning up; you got a fever," she whispered, shaking her head. "I always tell you to build a fire for the night," she continued, to which he started answering, "spooks th-" until she interrupted him again, saying, "spooks the game if you already shot it once, I know. C'mon, let's get you inside." He just grunted, starting to walk towards the door to enter the actual building, still carrying the deer. Once they were inside, he set the animal down in the kitchen before going up to his perch where he simply dropped down, setting his crossbow down next to the pile of blankets he used as bed. He shimmied over to the side a bit so he could lean his back against the wall. His movements were heavy, exhaustion evident on his face. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, collect his thoughts, stay calm. He heard someone walk up the stairs and didn't even open his eyes, knowing it was probably just going to be Carol. In fact, it was. She had a bucket in her hand and when she reached him, she took a cloth out of the bucket, caringly placing it on his forehead. He knew that this was bad. They couldn't afford to lose their hunter, one of their best men, their second in command. They trusted him. He was family. He didn't even know where the hell this fever had come from, he usually didn't get sick that easily. This fever had come out of nowhere, hitting him completely off guard; he hadn't done anything differently than any other time he had gone out hunting. It was as if it wasn't even his fever. The cold of the wet cloth shocked him out of his thoughts. Carol was talking to him, but he wasn't listening to what she was saying, he couldn't concentrate on it even if he tried. Before he had even realized it, he had fallen asleep.

His dreams were filled with pain and sadness, memories of what his every day used to feel like.

When he woke back up, he heard Rick's voice; Carol's and Maggie's could be heard soon after. He knew they were talking about him, knew it was a problem that he was sick. They were low on meds, they couldn't afford to have him fall sick.

"He's not bit, is he?" He heard Maggie say. He groaned in response, trying to open his eyes but failing miserably. He hadn't even noticed that he was this weak. After about two painfully long minutes of trying to open his eyes, he finally succeeded and the first thing he saw was blond hair. Beth. She searched his eyes, concerned that he might have turned, which was stupid since he hadn't stopped breathing, which she could easily see. However in this world you never knew, it turned you paranoid, scared of losing your family even to the slightest injury or illness.

"Daryl?" She asked, voice laced with fear and worry. "Mmmhmm," he answered, still not capable of speaking actual words. His throat was too dry for that. Relieved, Beth smiled, jumping up to tell the others he had woken up and also get him some fresh water.

His fever hadn't gotten any better over night, in fact his temperature had gone up. Hershel walked over on his crutches, a thermometer in his hand. Putting it in Daryl's mouth they all waited anxiously. A high fever could lead to complications and even death. After a bit Hershel took the thermometer back and glanced at it. Upon seeing his expression, the others worried even more. "How high?" Beth demanded to know, breaking the silence. "41 [~106]." Maggie gasped while Carl, who had joined them just in time to hear what Hershel had said, asked innocently: "Is that bad?"

Daryl groaned in pain, he had gotten a massive headache and was shivering despite all the blankets Carol must have thrown over him. He could feel the sweat all over his body although he was freezing. Never had he been this cold. After a few more minutes of listening to the others organizing a supply run to get him some meds as soon as possible, he passed out.


	5. Soaked Chapter five

Soaked / Chapter 5

Cold. So cold.

He was freezing, goosebumps covering his skin. His soaking wet clothes were laid out on the floor of the cabin he had taken shelter in. It was a disaster. He had just wanted to go on a run, gather some supplies and explore the woods around the area. He had also wanted to get away from the people at the Hilltop for a bit, he felt like he was better off on his own for a couple of days, needed a break from all the people.

This, however, obviously meant that he had told them he would be gone for a couple of days, which didn't exactly help his current situation, since therefore there wouldn't be anybody looking for their scout. He was in desperate need of someone who could help him out of this mess, but since he was pretty far from home that, wouldn't be happening anytime soon. Thinking back, it was all just really stupid and could have easily been avoided. He had been exploring the woods when a large herd of walkers had started approaching him. Obviously, he had turned the other way, first slowly moving away from the dead so as not to attract their attention, but he soon started running. Trying to get away from them, he hadn't noticed another, smaller group of walkers coming his way. He almost ran into one of them, which made him take a sharp right turn. What he hadn't realized though, was that there was a slope there. Which he fell down. Obviously.

But that wasn't even the best part about it. Rolling down the hill, he ended up having all kinds of shit such as undergrowth, foliage and barks sticking to him, while small sticks, stones and other objects poked him as if falling down a hill didn't already hurt enough on its own.

It got even better though. He expected to reach flat ground once he started slowing down, but suddenly he felt _no_ ground beneath himself at all. Before his mind could even comprehend what had just happened, his brain short circuited, his entire body suddenly feeling an immense cold. He gasped for air, but all that filled his lungs was water. Ice cold water. After finally getting his brain to work again, he quickly swam to the surface. His clothes and backpack were heavy, soaked in water, pulling him down. He fought against it with strong strokes and once he reached the surface after coughing a couple of times he started looking around and trying to find a place where he could easily get out of this lake and on shore. He started moving towards what looked to be a good spot when he heard a splash from behind. His head automatically snapped around at this unexpected sound, but all he saw was a mop of blond hair sinking slowly. Knowing that walkers were probably going to follow him and that blond one only motivated him to swim faster.

Finally reaching the shore he pulled himself up, breathing heavily. He rolled over so he could lie on his back and tried to calm down, sorting his tthoughts. When he heard another splash though, he quickly stood up again, taking off his backpack in the process. After checking if he had lost anything - which fortunately, he hadn't - he put it back on his shoulders. Looking around, he realized he had no clue as to where he had ended up. There was no point in going back up the hill since there was still the large herd of walkers there; only the smaller group had followed him.

He quickly decided on which direction to go, knowing he needed to find shelter as soon as possible. He was completely soaked, his heavy leather coat and full backpack weighing him down immensely. He definitely had to dry his clothes, body and the contents of his backpack, but he obviously couldn't just do that in the middle of the woods during a zombie apocalypse, not when he was alone. He kept walking, still shivering, for about two hours, when he luckily stumbled upon what seemed to be an old hunting cabin. He had hoped nobody was there, nobody being less of a problem than a hostile human or the dead.

Even though it seemed to be his worst day in at least a year, he was lucky to find the cabin to be uninhabited. He entered, checking the small shed multiple time before relaxing. Still shivering, he set down his backpack and undressed soon after. Now naked, he took a plastic bag out if his backpack. The contents of said bag were soon scattered on the floor: utensils to build a fire. He wasn't _that_ stupid. Of course he knew his stuff might get wet, which is why he took _some_ precautions.

He had found some firewood behind the cabin, which he had taken inside and placed in the fireplace, next to which more logs could be found. He quickly started a fire to preserve the little body heat he had left. Unfortunately, he didn't have any dry clothes, everything was drenched as there had been a shortage of plastic bags back at the Hilltop. Once the fire was burning, he put in some logs in order to make it burn for a couple of hours. He sat in front of the fireplace, still naked, hoping the fire would warm him up fast enough so that he wouldn't get a fever. He fell asleep soon after.


	6. Gone Chapter six

His eyes opened. Closed again. Opened. Closed.

He raised his hand to rub the sleep from his eyes. Then he opened them again. He looked around, not fully realizing where he was. Once his brain caught up with the current situation, he tried to stand up.

His muscles however, failed him. Feeling slightly dizzy, he dropped back to the ground immediately. A shiver went through his entire body. He slowly turned his head to look at the fireplace, but the fire was long dead.

Still naked and still not trusting his legs to carry him, he crawled to the other side of the room, where his clothes were still laid out on the floor.

Finally having reached them, he stretched one arm out to pat them, testing if they were dry yet. His shirt, pants and socks were. His long leather coat, however, wasn't. With aching limbs he struggled to actually put his clothes on, but managed eventually. Why was moving so painful? Well it was probably a side effect of the high fever he most likely had. He knew the symptoms. Constantly feeling cold even though your body was burning up. Aching limbs. Constantly shivering. Feeling dizzy. He didn't need a doctor to diagnose something like a fever.

At least wearing something made him feel a little warmer now. Still cold, but warmer, sheltered from the cold breeze that somehow carried through the cabin. His eyes searched the room for his backpack; he was sure he still had some pain meds somewhere in his backpack. He scanned the whole room, yet his backpack was nowhere to be found. It was gone. Just gone.

Fighting the dizziness, he scrambled to his feet, almost falling over again. Keeping one hand on the wall for stability, he walked over to the other room, checking if maybe he had left his backpack there and just forgotten in his daze. He checked the small room, but there was no backpack in sight, so he went back to the main room. Maybe there was something in the desk? He had accepted the fact that someone had obviously stolen his supplies, but he hoped they had had enough mercy in them to leave *something* for him.

He stumbled over to the desk, breathing heavily, feeling weaker by the second. Once he had reached it, he opened the drawer with shaking hands. Not believing what his eyes saw at first, he blinked a couple of times. Matches and antibiotics. He sighed, glad that the thief had found the heart to leave him these essential items. He took the matches and the box of antibiotics from the drawer, dragging himself back to the fireplace. He built a fire, hoping it would last him for a bit with just the logs he had in the cabin. He was in no condition to fight, so leaving the cabin was not an option he could consider at the moment, especially since the thief might still be around.

Leaning on the wall next to the fireplace he grabbed the box, checking how many pills were left. There were only three. There was no way these three pills would be enough for him to feel better. He took one anyway and got comfortable next to the fire. Cold sweat still running down his back he decided to use his still damp coat as a blanket to preserve the little body heat he still had.

He woke up a couple of hours later. The fire was almost dead, so he quickly grabbed another log and placed it on top of the still red glowing coal. The wood caught on fire soon after, emanating the precious heat his body most definitely needed. He turned his head, looking at the door and his eyes widened when he spotted a bottle of water there. He knew for sure that that hadn't been there before. His throat was so dry it hurt, he was in desperate need of water, his body facing both the fever and dehydration at the same time.

When he tried to get up and walk over there though, his vision faded to black and he felt himself drop to the floor, falling unconscious before even hitting it.

The next time he woke up it was to the feeling of a wet cloth on his forehead. He tried to have a look around, but everything was hazy; he couldn't see properly. Trying to sit up was not a good idea as he realized he was still very dizzy, but his throat wasn't as dry anymore. Someone had obviously taken care of him, but he didn't see anybody and his brain was still all fuzzy, which is why he just closed his eyes again, hoping that whoever this was wouldn't harm him.

This time he woke up to the sound of a voice. "Shit!" was the glorious word that woke him from his peaceful slumber. He didn't know the voice, but it was definitely a female sounding one.

Groaning, he tried to turn his side and open his eyes, but he stopped as soon as he felt a sharp, cold blade at his throat.

"Don't. Move." he heard her say. Opening his eyes to look at her, he realized that she couldn't have been any older than thirteen. Deciding that positivity would probably be the best approach, he grinned, saying "Hi. I'm Jesus," which came out really ragged since his throat still wasn't fully well. What he got as a response only made him grin even wider, "Yea, I bet you are. You almost died. Twice. Made it through though. I'm Enid." She smiled slightly, taking the knife away from his throat.


End file.
